


Musings on the Boneless

by ifinkufreaky



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Death, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Painful Sex, Spanking, Stabbing, Tumblr Prompt, nsfw headcanon prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:29:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10011098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: A collection of all the short prompt fills I've done for Ivar. Every one of them is filthy.





	1. ivar's dream

Ivar never came harder in his life than he did the night of the human sacrifice. When he crawled back into his bed that night, he was still covered in the Earl’s blood. He had felt his cock stir just from the feeling of those drops hitting his face, when the priest had anointed him in the sacred fluid.

He removed his clothing and lay back, cupping his balls in one hand while idly waking up his cock with the other. Usually he thought about the serving girls’ bodies, or the couples he had spied on at times when they were not being very discreet. This time the Earl’s open face was foremost in Ivar’s mind, the strange trust and readiness with which the young man had faced his death. The shine on the sharp edge of the blade as Lagertha had raised it up high.

Ivar spared a few moments to fantasize how he would kill Lagertha, the way her skin would part and tear and her ruby red blood would flow as she begged him for mercy. His cock grew in his hands, and he gave his balls another squeeze before relaxing that hand around the base of his shaft.

Lagertha’s blade, pressed against the Earl’s chest. The way the man’s breath caught at the reality of the moment, fear rising and then quickly swallowed again. Ivar looked down at his hands, flecked with the dark dried blood as they wrapped around his weeping erection. He groaned at the sight, threw his head back again.

The image changed; the blade was in Ivar’s own hands. He was the one on the dais before the Earl, gripping the leather around the sword’s grip with both hands. He switched the position of his hands on his cock so that they matched the fantasy. He set the tip of the sword against the Earl’s chest, twisted his fingers around the grip with a wicked smile on his lips. The Earl smiled back at him, bravely, ready for the ecstasy of death.

The cold bright steel disappearing into the Earl’s chest. Ivar remembered the way the man’s face had gone slack and internal. Ivar was making the same face as he pumped away at his shaft. His whole body was tingling, pressure building in his balls now as he remembered how easily the blade had entered the man, just below the ribs. His blade now, soft and sweet and inevitable.

And then, the Earl clasped both of Ivar’s arms, looked deeply into his eyes, and _pulled_ _himself_ _onto the blade._ Ivar’s hands rubbed over himself frantically as he replayed that moment over in his mind. He was so close now, pleasure like flowing magma radiating down from his cock and up to his face. _He had pulled himself onto it._ The Earl in Ivar’s mind didn’t stop, made himself a sheath to the sword all the way up to the hilt, collapsed on Ivar’s shoulder with his arms around his neck and a “thank you” on his lips. Ivar gritted his teeth and came with a groan at the beauty and terror of it, the orgasm spasming his entire body, coming in wave after wave as he continued to pump with his fist and let his seed fly where it may.


	2. NSFW Headcanons A-Z

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompt game: http://whenimaunicorn.tumblr.com/post/157076273409/headcanon-game-a-to-z-nsfw

**A = Aftercare**  (What they’re like after sex) 

Sometimes you agree to have sex with Ivar just for the aftercare. It’s the only time he feels comfortable enough, sure enough of his total control and sway over you to let his guard down and be purely affectionate. He pulls you into his chest with his strong arms, likes to hold his face close to yours and just listen to you breathe. When he stares into your eyes as you both catch your breaths and come down from the rush of your orgasms, you see a kind of purity to his love that never comes through at any other time. The kind of love games he plays with you are often intense, and on those nights Ivar takes extra care to stroke your hair, tell you how wonderful and strong you are, and try to soothe away every pain that he created. 

 

**C = Cum** (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) 

Ivar loves to see his seed all over you. When he’s close, he will often pull away and take himself in his own hand, give his shaft a few expert strokes and watch closely as the white spurts fly and decorate your face or chest. Sometimes he won’t let you come until after he has done this, so that you can feel the proof of his love dripping all over you as he gives you your own release.

 

** F = Favourite Position ** (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Ivar likes to start with you on top of him, especially if he can convince you to sneak out and do it on the throne in the middle of the night. He likes to feel you working hard to serve him, satisfy him, every movement of your body eager to please. But that is only the beginning for him. By the end, he’s manhandling you into whichever position it’s going to take to make you scream the loudest for him.

 

** G = Goofy ** (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Ivar is so intent, and he has a very hard time letting go of his black moods even when you’re together. But there are rare days, often when you’re outside Kattegat someplace beautiful together, when he lets his guard down and relaxes. Then Ivar will tease you, and let you tease him back, before he pounces on you like a bear cub and tickles you mercilessly. 

This usually leads to him mouthing something between bites and kisses down your giggling belly, over the curve of your hip… and once he’s licking down your inner thigh, things have become a little more than just playful.

 

**J = Jack Off** (Masturbation headcanon) 

(Hoo boy I have a LOT of legit headcanons about this. Here’s one of them. Probably not sexy but I finally have an excuse to put this out there!)

Ivar was not afraid to ask his brothers to bring the slave Margrethe to him. He had been giving himself orgasms for years at that point, under the covers when he was alone in his bed. He knew just how he liked to grasp himself, thinking about some shieldmaiden’s tits or ass and pulling along his length over and over until his balls tightened and the thick white fluid spurted out. 

He was… surprised… and appalled, and angry at the gods, when Margrethe informed him that he was not firm enough to enter her. He had glimpsed other men’s erections before, had thought their angle was strange, but had not grasped the significance. He tried to force himself into her anyway, until she screamed and cried real tears over the bruising force of his hipbone mashing against hers. His cock was as strange as his legs were, he thought bitterly; it turned out that he could satisfy himself with it, but not a woman.

 

**M = Motivation**  (What turns them on, gets them going) 

Begging. Begging for more; begging him to stop; Ivar loves to hear you pleading. And he knows when you’re faking it, moaning half-heartedly just to please him or to try and get your way. That will only make him intensify his actions, until he can hear in your voice that you’ve lost all pride and ceded your will entirely to his own.

 

**N = NO** (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

“No.”

“I heard about it from one of the southern slaves. Apparently, if you push in to about the second knuckle and then press toward the front, they say it feels wonderful and can help your cock to rise.”

“Absolutely not.”

 

**O = Oral**  (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) 

As far as you can tell, Ivar’s greatest interest is in making you feel things. All kinds of things. And there is an absolutely unique noise he likes to get out of you, one that only comes from deep within your throat when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks…

His second greatest interest is in feeling things, himself. He presses your head down to his cock often and eagerly, the way you suck him into your warm and wet cheek driving him absolutely wild.

 

**V = Volume**  (How loud they are, what sounds they make) 

Ivar makes this noise in the back of his throat when you’re pleasing him, that’s somewhere between a growl and a hum. He likes to get you screaming, wants people to overhear the proof of his prowess, but he’s reserved and in control of his own vocalizations. Just that little hum, spurring you on, sometimes breaking into a sob and a whispered prayer just as you undo him.

 

** Y = Yearning ** (How high is their sex drive?)

When Ivar wants you, he wants you, and he will not be denied. His eyes settle on you from across the room and you shiver; his hand creeping under your skirt is inevitable if you go to him. But Ivar is often preoccupied with his ambitions, his stratagems and his rages. Sometimes you find yourself yearning for that burning gaze to fall upon you again.

He needs to feel safe, loved, and absolutely in control for the act of love. You do your best to provide these conditions, but Ivar’s life is complicated and pressured, and sometimes you must simply wait for the stars to align again.


	3. ivar's wife

I can’t stop thinking about Ivar’s wife always bathing alone. Not because she’s ashamed of her body, but because the scars he's decorated her with tell a story too intimate for anyone else's eyes.


	4. sneaking away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill: what would Ivar do if he walked in on you touching yourself?

You were so focused on your own pleasure that you did not notice the sound of a body dragging across the forest floor toward you. You had hidden yourself down near the riverbank, under some low brush, for what had to be the most embarrassing reason imaginable. Ivar Ragnarsson and his awful, condescending way of flirting had gotten you so hot that you just had to run off and touch yourself. The need for release had become unbearable as you watched him handle his axes out in the training yard, throwing each one lazily into its target. Everything he did was sexy to you, and you just couldn’t take it any longer.

It was silly, but here you were, on your back on the ground, one hand shoved into your breeches and the other pinching at your own nipple as you softly whispered his name.

“Yes, y/n?” the prince’s sardonic voice answered. You flipped up in terror; Ivar was resting on his elbows and grinning at you, only a few feet away. He gestured toward your hips with his fingers. “What is it that you are doing, there?” he asked, though the arrogant way his lip curled in over his bottom teeth showed that he understood exactly what was happening.

You didn’t know what to say. Heat flooded your cheeks; you kind of wanted to curl up and die right there, but you couldn’t help but enjoy this predicament a little bit, yourself.

When you didn’t move, Ivar crawled forward on his elbows until his laughing face was looming over yours. “Were you thinking about me, and touching yourself, y/n?” he asked.

The bastard just had to make you say it, didn’t he. There was a reason you had slipped away to take care of yourself alone rather than pull Ivar along with you. Everyone that you knew, hated him. You didn’t want him to be your boyfriend, and you didn’t want to admit the things you dreamed of him doing to you.

He reached his hand out, strong fingers framed by those distinctive gauntlets he always wore. Gods, how you’d longed for that hand. He let it hover over your body as still you remained silent. “Nothing to say?” he smirked. “Actions speak louder than words, anyway.” You both watched his palm slowly descend to your breast. His fingers scooped around your flesh and squeezed, and you couldn’t help but arc your body into it. You had been so close to climax when he interrupted you. A single moan escaped your lips at his teasing now.

Ivar’s eyes blazed as he looked back to your face, triumph glowing within them. He continued to hold your gaze as he dragged the hem of your shirt up until your chest was completely bare for him. Still with that mocking smile, he lowered his face and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Put your hand back in your pants,” he ordered, then closed his eyes and savored the taste of your skin. He scooted himself a little closer, until he could settle on one elbow and reach your breasts with both hands. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

You could no longer conceive of making a different choice. There was no use resisting the sight of Ivar thoroughly enjoying your naked chest, the feel of him rolling your nipples between his fingers and pulling them between his lips. You propped your head up on one arm to relax as you enjoyed the view, letting your other hand resume its earlier activities. This time your fingers moved lazily, not wanting this to be over too quickly. Now that the damage was done, Ivar had caught you, you weren’t planning on letting him go for a good, long while.


	5. i know you saw what i did - Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one came from a Modern AU prompt challenge inspired by this photo shoot the actor playing Ivar did: http://www.boysbygirls.co.uk/index.php/news/bbg-presents-alex-hogh
> 
> I took a few days off writing to, you know, attend to my real life. And when I came back to this prompt, Ivar decided he needed to murder me. Sigh. It’s a short piece, but here’s our trigger warnings: implied murder, implied torture, implied rape, references to choking, threatening with a knife. There is nothing endearing or good about Ivar in this piece, and so if you’re not interested in sociopath-teenage-serial-killer-Ivar just skip this one.

  


“You’re so jumpy, y/n.” Ivar Lothbrok’s mouth twisted in a slow, mocking smile. “If you don't trust me, why did you come out here with me?” He took one last drag of his cigarette and tossed it on the dirty ground. “I’ve seen you watching me. I think you want us to get closer. Now’s your chance.” He disappeared into the darkness of the abandoned building on the beach that he’d brought you out to. You sucked in one shaky breath and followed him inside.

“You’ve been stalking me,” came his voice, cold and low. Your eyes weren’t adjusted to the dimness; you weren’t quite sure where he was in here. “It’s ok, I wanted you to. That’s why I always post where I’m going.” He was leaning against an old wooden table someone had left in here. There were no chairs. His teeth flashed in a shark’s smile and he beckoned you closer. “You finally have me alone, why so shy?”

The urge to press your body against his and try and beg for one sweet kiss from Ivar was almost overwhelming. His perfect lips and drowning eyes were almost all you ever thought about anymore. Could you really believe that he wanted you too? You stepped back instead, leaned against the wall and wrapped your arms around your body to hold yourself back.

Ivar never broke eye contact, eyebrows jumping in amusement at your reluctant body language. “I actually can’t believe you came with me.” He waited a beat. “You are always watching; I know you saw what I did to Margrethe.” Ice started creeping up your spine. The whole town was in an uproar looking for her. “That didn’t stop you. I bet you touched yourself and wondered what it felt like when I wrapped my hand around her throat.”

Ivar’s hand came out of his pocket; you heard the _snnnnk_ of his switchblade before you saw the metal flash in the dark. “You know what I did. You know what I like. And you got in my car.” He stood up, flipped the knife around his fingers. You used to stare at him as he did those idle little tricks, hanging out with the rejects under the bleachers; that may have been the first thing that attracted you to him.

“And now, you know I can’t let you leave.” He smiled, stepping close enough to loom over you. “Did you think I was just going to play with you a little, and then let you go? Did you think it would matter to me that you haven’t told anyone yet where I put her body?” You willed yourself to run, but your legs weren’t moving. Ivar Lothbrok was finally looking at you. If you stayed you’d finally feel his hands on you.

Ivar pressed the cold blade against your cheek. His glittering, predator’s eyes softened for one shining moment. “Why did you come with me?” It came out almost a whisper, heavy with the echoes of his hollow heart.

You decided you’d might as well tell him, see if he’s the kind of killer who’d grant a last request. “I just want to kiss you,” you squeak out as his brow creases. “I just want to be yours.”

“You’re an idiot,” he responds, and your heart dies. “But I appreciate that you made this so easy for me. I didn’t have to come find you, drag you out somewhere to shut you up. Instead, you made yourself a gift for me.” His smile was proud and cold and made you shiver as he looked down at you, your bodies only inches apart now. “You even wore a bow,” he joked, tugging at the tie around the waist of your flimsy little sundress.

You almost jumped out of your skin when his hand contacted your cheek, but he was only brushing a lock of your hair aside. “I am going to savor this gift, y/n,” he said, forcing sincerity into his voice, nodding to make you nod and agree. The knife in his other hand started traveling down your skin. “I’ll unwrap you as slowly as I can stand to.” Ivar leaned in so close you could feel his lips dancing against your temple as he spoke. “In a minute, you’re going to go lay on your back on that table. Then I will get on top of you. Have you been dreaming of something like that?”

Heat sliced through your core at the familiar image and you moaned a quiet affirmative noise.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and you felt his lips smile against your cheek. “I am even going to let you touch yourself, when I start.” Ivar pressed the cold flat of the switchblade against your thigh, hooking just under the hem of your dress. “And then we’ll see how long you can hold out, how far you’ll let me get before I have to tie you down after all.” Your instincts finally started to kick in; you moved to bolt for the door but it was much, much too late for escape. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to feel me fucking you before I let you pass out.” Your knees buckled and the iron arms that were holding you back were suddenly holding you up. “But first, I’m going to let you have your kiss.”


	6. birthday spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for a dear sister-wife who turned 28 today. Indistinct setting and the Reader just might be a time traveling fan of the show. Or a random visitor to Kattegat. It's not very serious just have fun with it!
> 
> Warnings for spanking and once again, a poorly-negotiated impromptu BDSM scene where everyone was just lucky enough to be ok with everything that happened. Communication and informed consent are better IRL.

“I heard there was a custom where you come from, regarding birthdays,” Ivar’s voice calls through the stillness of the hall. You had thought everyone went to bed; you were on your way to bed yourself. But Ivar is still there, by himself, sitting on the throne. “Come here.”

He says it with such command that you jump to comply without really thinking about it. You are only left to wonder what the scariest son of Ragnar is up to as you watch your feet carry you across the room. You didn’t know each other well, had spoken only rarely, and never alone. But you had felt his eyes on you at times, and often wondered if he wanted something from you. “What have you heard, my Prince?” you ask as you come to stand before him, carefully out of arm’s reach.

A smile breaks over Ivar’s face, smug and full of dark promises. “I heard that your people give spankings to the birthday girl. For luck in the coming year. Seems strange, but I would not want you to neglect your customs while you are here. I want to help you complete this ritual.” He tries to coax you closer with a wave, and a nod of his head. “Come here.”

You blush but you take one step closer to him, hypnotized by the depths of his eyes. His words are casual and selfless, but his face says he’s getting something out of this too. You both watch his hand reach out and settle upon your hip. You can feel its warmth even through two layers of skirts.

“Turn around.”

You smile nervously as you present your backside to him; Ivar does not retract his hand, dragging his fingers across your lower back as you rotate. Adrenaline sparks through your body, and maybe something else. You’ve always found him handsome, but he never seemed approachable. This game is silly but it's still an excuse to let him touch you.

Ivar brushes his fingers down over the top of one ass cheek, lining up his shot. His hand disappears and a moment later a soft jolt knocks you slightly off balance. You yelp in surprise but it doesn’t really hurt.

You hear a dark chuckle but you’re too mortified to turn around. “I didn’t expect you to cry out so early, I’m only just warming up,” Ivar informs you, then he strikes again. Your stance is better so you don’t wobble as far, but this blow is heavy enough to sting for a moment. “One for each of the years of your age, yes?” he asks, then cracks again. His hand hovers over the spot, even that slight touch soothing the sting. “How many will that be?”

You pause before you answer. You know that once you speak he will strike again, and you just want to enjoy the accidental affection of his palm for one moment longer. “Twenty-eight,” you whisper.

Ivar laughs again. “You come from a harsh land,” he comments. “I hope you have the stamina for all of that.” Then he gives you a backhand to the other side. It does make it hurt less, to spread them out.

After a few more strikes Ivar pauses again, fingertips grazing across the top of one hip in idle circles. “This is not the ideal position for this,” he murmurs. “You’ll make my arm sore. Come lay across my lap.”

Heat flashes between your legs and you look over your shoulder at the prince. His head waggles in a cocky grin as he spreads his arms out to invite you. “It will be more comfortable for you, too, not to have to stand through all of this.”

You can’t think of anything to say, can’t believe your luck right now. You weren’t sure if Ivar even knew your name before tonight. All you can do is smile like you’re sharing a secret and get ready to lay yourself down.

You don’t miss the way that Ivar adjusts the contents of his trousers as he guides you, placing your lower belly on his thighs, balancing with your fingertips on the floor. It’s a strange and humiliating position but Ivar’s left hand stroking smoothly across your back makes it feel better. Chills dance down your spine as you hear him whisper: “There’s a good girl.”

You barely suppress a moan as Ivar’s right hand rubs one smooth circle over each of your asscheeks, assessing the terrain.

_Crack._

The first blow is immediately harder than the others had been, now that he’s not worried about knocking you off your feet. It’s on the left cheek, the one that had only received one strike so far. The thudding impact is not unpleasant, with just a little pain rolling in after.

_Crack._ The other side stings a bit more.

“Have you been counting?” Ivar asks idly, delivering another blow right in its wake.

Shit.

“No,” you say honestly, then realize you should have just picked a number.

Ivar sighs. “Then I suppose we will have to start over. One.”

This time a hiss escapes between your teeth. You’re getting sore.

“Two.” He strikes again and this time your body tenses and you squeal in protest.

“Birthday spankings don’t need to be this hard,” you complain through gritted teeth.

“What, did you think I would go easy on you?” Ivar mocks, but switches his next blow to the other side.

 He draws a moan out of you with that one, a little pleasured purr that’s an instinctive attempt to communicate your preference for mercy. “Three,” Ivar breathes, after the fact, his hand stilling and rubbing over your skirt idly, as if he’s lost in a thought. You wonder if he didn’t like that you moaned. Maybe you were reading this all wrong. “This isn’t right either,” he says softly.

You twist your neck to look up at him.

“Your skirts are in the way.”

Ivar’s eyes study your face as he starts sliding the fabric up, bunching your heavy skirts above your hips and dragging the hemline up the back of your legs, bit by bit. You assume he’s watching for signs of argument in your expression, but you find you have no problem with this turn of events at all. The next pass of his hand comes below the edge of the fabric. Your eyes flutter as you focus on the sensation of his leather-clad palm on your thigh, contrasting starkly with the warmth of his fingers. They curl and caress your skin as they pull the final edge of skirt up to the bottom of your ass. Ivar pauses there, gives you a cocky smirk like he’s won something, and finally looks away from your face.

You watch him admire the swells of your bare skin as he reveals your entire ass, pushing the bunched fabric as far up your waist as he can. You don’t necessarily even know what you look like at this angle; you’re not sure if he can see your cunt peeking out between the two globes of your asscheeks or not. But you know he likes what he sees, because his jaw drops a little as his eyes roam.

“Much better,” he breathes as his hand follows his eyes, swirling over all your newly-exposed skin. He gives you a lazy slap, lighter than the others. “Now I can see what I am doing.” He hits you again. “You’re already turning red,” he says appreciatively.

You feel your face burning too and wonder which cheeks are redder. You’ve never been more turned on in your life.

Two more smacks come in quick succession, hard enough to make you drop your head between your hands and focus on bearing this with grace again. The area between your legs is feeling just as hot as the flesh he is currently abusing, and you wonder if after this he’ll pull your skirt back down or if he’ll take advantage in other ways.

“What number are we on?” Ivar asks, delivering two more blows. You’re starting to sting again.

“Ten,” you gasp, remembering to guess this time.

_Crack. Crack._

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“Of-of course not, my Prince,” you stammer, something about his tone making you so weak.

“We wouldn’t want to get your luck ritual wrong,” he continues smugly, then strikes hard enough to make you hiss again. “What would your gods think of me then?”

You smile just a little at the thought of any gods caring about whether birthday girls got their correct number of spankings. Then Ivar wipes that smile right off your face with his next blow. “Ah!” you can’t help but cry.

Ivar’s hand is circling, soothing again. “Fourteen. Halfway there. It’s going to get worse now, are you ready?”

“Yes,” you sigh, though all you really want is for that soothing hand to keep circling.

“Fifteen,” he hisses, striking dead-center on your right cheek with a force that blazes across nerves that are already screaming awake. “Sixteen.” The next blow is in the same spot and you can’t stop your back from arching in protest. You’re making some kind of noise through clenched teeth and when the seventeenth lands you’re wriggling and rolling and trying to escape despite yourself.

Ivar’s hand remains spread over your hot and worried flesh, steadying you. “Shhhh, stay still now,” he soothes. As he starts to rub you again you realize part of what’s making this so hard is that he is still wearing his leather gauntlets; that edge of tough hide is probably cutting a bright welt into your flesh with every strike.

His thumb traces a particularly sensitive line and you realize he knows it, he can see them forming already and he likes them. You draw in a shaky breath and try to brace yourself for more.

_Crack._

You moan in relief when his next blow falls on your unblemished left cheek. Though it won’t stay that way for long. Ivar ramps up the intensity more slowly on this side, gives you a chance to get used to the pain, enjoy it even. By the time he’s reached twenty-two you’re crying out after every strike but it’s bearable, you can do it. You want to impress him. Especially when he tells you how much he likes the sounds you’re making.

Twenty-five breaks you. He’s hit the same place too many times and you scream and sob at the sharp line of pain he’s drawing. “Please,” you hear yourself sob, though you so didn’t want to have to. “Stop.”

Ivar’s hand is soft and reassuring again, fingers tracing light circles over your screaming flesh. “Your skin is so hot,” he murmurs, “you have been doing so well, y/n.” He bends and you feel his breath fanning over your skin, so good it makes you shiver. You felt it on your cunt, too. Now you know you are open to him in this position. “Only three left.”

Your body curls involuntarily, in self-protection. The motion presses your stomach into Ivar’s groin, and you suddenly realize how hard he is.

“You have to finish your ritual, birthday girl,” he mocks. “You are so close.” His hand slows, and you feel his thumb sliding toward the cleft of your ass. “Can you be a good girl and take it?”

You hold your breath as Ivar’s thumb dips down, runs over the sensitive flesh of your outer folds. After all that pain, your whole body wants to ascend at a touch of such pure pleasure. Ivar’s touch. You let out a sigh when he repeats the stroke again, only teasing you, not separating your lips. “Yes…” you breathe.

His hand disappears and a sharp crack resounds through the empty hall, followed closely by your strangled scream. The break hadn’t done anything to reduce the pain his strikes could inflict. Another blow follows closely, on the other side, just as bad, but at least it wasn’t stacked on top of the last one. Your body bucks hard, tries to roll off Ivar’s lap but he’s ready for it, holding you down with his left arm like an iron band.

You listen to yourself sob. “No more, Ivar, I can’t bear it.”

“Shhhh, shhhhh, there is only one left now. Then you can please your gods and have your birthday luck for the year.”

You shake your head, still panting, voice catching in little mewls on every exhale. Your entire ass is burning, and it’s going to be fine, you are still enjoying yourself, but _not_ if you have to go through that even one more time.

Ivar leans toward your face. “If you cannot take it for yourself, then take it for me.” His finger is stroking up and down your slit again. “You look so beautiful right now, y/n,” he coos.

Your breath catches at the tender words. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would end up in a position like this tonight; you weren’t sure if Ivar had ever even noticed you.

“Just for you,” you say, locking your eyes on his and meaning so much more than only this silly game.

Ivar’s satisfaction deepens and you see him raise his arm to strike. He lets it hover, watches the way you flinch and can’t seem to catch your breath in awful anticipation of the pain. He stops holding you down with his left hand, brings it instead to stroke the side of your face. His palm slides down to the side of your neck, bracing you tenderly for the final jolt. It is so strange and wonderful, how he comforts you and revels in your fear all at once.

His hand falls heavily against the worst spot. You weren’t sure why you thought he might spare you that last ounce of pain. You turn your face into his comforting left hand and let yourself scream, outrage and pain and desperate submission all sounding notes in that cry. His right hand is immediately stroking and soothing, but the damage is done, you know you’ll be sitting funny for a week, the flesh of your right cheek so sore it’s throbbing.

The pain actually brought tears to your eyes. When he notices them Ivar’s face rolls in equal parts sympathy and pleasure, and he carefully wipes them away with his thumb.

“You did so well,” he tells you, eyes soft and proud. Then his right hand is at your opening again, and this time he parts your lips with his finger, draws it up and down smooth and firm. “And now you are so wet for me.” He leans in, another smile gracing his lips. “Do you want to tell me to stop again?”

“No,” you moan, closing your eyes as Ivar plunges his finger into your depths. New noises escape your throat as Ivar’s fingers slide and twist inside you. The relief of him finally doing something that feels good makes you want to sob anew.

“Well, birthday girl, do you want to unwrap your gift?” he asks with one final smirk, bucking his hips slightly so you cannot mistake what he means.

His fingers withdraw as you look up at him and he helps you lift yourself off his lap. Your hands itch to unlace his trousers, but you just have to talk a little, first.

You sit back down on his lap, legs only a little shaky. You trail one hand down his chest when he gives you a confused look. “Do you not want—“

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “It’s just… I had no idea you thought of me like this,” you say, settling hesitant fingers over his magnificent cheekbone.

Ivar’s eyes narrow. “How could I not?” he asks, running his own hands up your sides. “It is just… you are very hard to read, y/n. I had no idea what you thought of me, either. I wasn’t sure how to capture your attention.”

You giggle. The heat and pain on your asscheeks is subsiding, but still very noticeable. “Oh, you’ve certainly got it now. And I think you can be confident you’re going to keep it.”

Ivar’s smile is low and dark and true. “Then kiss me, y/n, first, and then I want you to ride me for the rest of the night.”


	7. more NSFW Headcanons A-Z

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote these in widely separated bursts over the past few months as the requests came in. They are not continuous with each other and some probably contradict others; they're not necessarily "headcanons" I guess, just amusing thoughts.

**A = Aftercare**  (What they’re like after sex)

Sliding his palm along your skin, Ivar is finally slow, so tender that you want to cry. Sometimes you do. Maybe he’s just admiring his work, the red and purple evidence of what he just did to your body, but it feels like more. He is so slow, after, and so silent. The storm has broken, and it feels like Ivar is finding some deep and needed rest contemplating your skin. You can’t help but imagine his touches are cherishing you, his hands much more generous with praise than his mouth will ever be. In these precious minutes before he pulls his clothes back on, you lie still and see an Ivar most people would never even guess existed. If you don’t move, it lasts just a little longer.

 

**B = Body part** (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ivar loves his big, hard, cock. You suppose it must be because he once had some sort of trouble with it? Now that he’s with you and he doesn’t, he’s so proud of himself that you almost want to laugh. When you’ve gotten him aroused he’s always stroking a hand over himself, pulling it out at any excuse and inviting you to admire him. If you play coy and hold yourself back he’s likely to press it into your face and make you worship it with your tongue. You have to be careful because all that focus makes him come easily, and sometimes you have other plans for Ivar’s favorite appendage before he decides the show is over.

What Ivar loves most about you is your ass. You’d think by now you would be used to feeling his hands all over your backside, anytime you are together, no matter whose company you are in. But there is so much variety in the _ways_ he appreciates your bum. Sometimes its an affectionate tap, a possessive sweep of his palm or a teasing creep of his fingers toward your center. When you’re alone, he loves to spank it until you’re bright red, then bend you over and bury his face between your thighs. When he’s ready to come he will often coax you to ride him, facing away, so that while you bounce on his cock he can continue to grasp at your cheeks and stare at the way your body swallows him up as you make love.

 

**D = Dirty Secret**  (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ivar has only one submissive fantasy. You had been married for years before he finally reveals it to you. He pulls out a coil of rope and asks you to bind him to the bed, then have your way with him. He thrashes like a wild animal as you tease him mercilessly, mixing a little bit of pain into his pleasure and stopping just at the brink of his orgasm several times. You demand that he beg you before you will sit on his cock; there is murder in his eyes and you know you will pay for this later. Especially since after he finally breaks and humbles himself, you decide to sit on his face instead...

 

**E = Experience**  (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Ivar didn’t come to you with much, but he quickly made himself a student of your body. Your soft sighs and purring groans gave him all the confidence he needed, and he was soon eager to rack up as much experience as you two could find the chances for: behind the great hall, in a secluded cove on the beach, or cozy in his bed whenever the miracle happened that none of his brothers were around.

Ivar sets that devious mind of his to great purpose; every time he gets you alone he has something new to try, experimenting and surprising you. He hones his methods until he knows exactly how to make you shake and moan.

 

**J = Jack Off** (Masturbation headcanon)

Ivar was still in his bed when you went in to clean up his chamber; he had been complaining of pain but the way he was writhing under his blanket did not seem exactly like suffering. “Keep working, slave,” the brat had commanded when you tried to step out and give him some privacy. You didn’t tell anyone, and the next time it happened you egged him on, swaying your ass as you worked, pulling your neckline down as you bent to wipe the fine wood of his bedframe. It wasn’t long before he became comfortable enough to ask if you’d like to add one more task on to your duties in his bedroom.

 

**N = NO** (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Ivar will never hurt you without your permission. He is an expert at seducing you into it, mesmerizing you with his eyes as he makes his dark suggestions. But he knows the difference between the faces you make in erotic torment, and the one you make in true agony, and he can never stand to see the latter on you.

 

**S = Stamina**  (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

(this is just one potential headcanon among many; I like to change the rules on this topic with every fic I write about him)

Ivar’s condition necessitates a lot of foreplay before he’s ready to come. Not that you’re complaining; he’s usually making sure you’ve climaxed at least twice before he gets serious about his own pleasure. One time he held you down to find out exactly how many times he could give you that little death; you made it to five before you threatened to pass out and begged him to go back to being selfish. Feeling you fly apart in his arms is the most reliable way he’s found to get himself hard enough to penetrate you, so even when he finally takes his turn you’re not really getting a break…

 

**T = Toy**  (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Ivar made you buy the first one yourself. There was a merchant at the market who had travelled from exotic lands far to the south. Among the curiosities set out all around his stall, there was a table of carved stone phalluses. Ivar grinned and told you to go buy any one that you liked. Meanwhile he set himself up across the lane where he could watch you as you made your selection. Your hand hovered over something big and knobbly before you selected a smooth and gracefully-shaped thing of a much more reasonable size.

When you returned home, the enormous thing Ivar had seen you consider was sitting in the center of your bed. “We will work you up to it,” Ivar whispered in your ear.

**U = Unfair**  (how much they like to tease)

You made up a little name for it, Ivar’s favorite game. Pleasure or Pain. When you have a long stretch of afternoon in a secluded little spot where no one will interrupt and no one will find you, Ivar likes to strip you down and bind your hands above your head. He tells you to close your eyes, or sometimes he makes a blindfold so you can’t cheat. He lays down next to you, propped on his elbow, and touches your body. All kinds of touches.

He usually starts with a caress, his fingertips ghosting over the peak or your breast or the side of your thigh. Usually. His next move could be a pinch that makes you moan, a tender kiss, a broad slap or a lusty grasping hand. Pleasure or Pain. He might suck at your nipple, rake his nails down your thigh, redden your torso in a flurry of bites and then nothing, no movements, no sounds, no clues what he’s up to for long aching seconds that make you writhe unconsciously.

You know he likes to watch you squirm and wonder.

Sometimes you feel the cold steel of his knife, making you suck in your breath and struggle to hold perfectly still. Always, his fingers end up inside you. As much pain as he asks you to take he makes sure to end with pleasure, wants to feel you shudder and come undone beneath him. He’s not stupid. A good prize means you’ll want to play the game again.

 

**W = Wild Card**  (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Ivar gets some of his strongest erections while he’s asleep. It’s one of the reasons you’re certain his difficulties with the act of love are caused by his complicated thoughts, the pressures he puts on himself. The first time you rolled over and found him rock-hard, you woke him up with gentle kisses and urgent suggestions. Since then he’s told you that you are more than welcome to climb right on; Ivar loves to wake up finding himself already inside you, and rewards you with the most adorable, loving smile when he first opens those brilliant blue eyes to see you above him.


	8. slap, lick, fondle aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A while back we played a prompt game on tumblr where you had three Ragnarssons lined up at a feast and you had to choose one to slap, one to lick, and one to fondle. So many of the fans chose to slap or otherwise fuck with Ivar that I felt the need to write this sequel...
> 
> Also I wrote the whole thing in an hour on wine night so it may not be my very best work ;)

 

You shiver, even though you’re close to the fire. He told you to kneel.

A dark rag is tied around your head, wrapped tight over your eyes. He had drawn it from his pocket, told you he didn’t want you cheating. You were instructed to blindfold yourself after you knelt down in the center of his room.

The cloth smelled like him.

You’re already breathing heavily when you hear the door open, then comes that unique sliding noise that is Ivar entering a room. Fair is fair, he had said. You chose to slap him in that silly game, and now it was the end of the night and he had convinced you to allow him payback. And who would ever choose to deny Ivar the Boneless his vengeance?

You realize you’re not a very good judge of distance when sound is your only marker; it seems like it is taking him much too long to come to your side. The hairs on your arm tingle as you finally sense him settling next to you with a satisfied grunt.

“You can follow instructions. Good, you’re not entirely useless.”

You can’t help but sway, your body trying to flinch, knowing what has to be coming.

“Relax,” Ivar whispers, drawing the second syllable out into a hypnotic hiss. You feel him moving around you but still the slap doesn’t come.

“Just get it over with,” you say, barely able to stand the tension bubbling in your belly. You thought you wanted the chance to be alone in Ivar’s room, but he’s making you feel so vulnerable now you’re not sure it’s worth it. You probably wouldn’t have drawn up the courage to try to kiss him, anyway.

“Hush,” Ivar said curtly. You can tell that he’s definitely circling you now. Something brushes your cheek and you recoil. His fingertips, you realize, but you weren’t able to stop the self-protective reflex.

“That wasn’t a slap,” you say.

“No, it wasn’t,” Ivar says, and you feel his hand on you again, his knuckles brushing under your chin. This time you lean into it, ever so slightly, as his fingers curl around your jaw and his thumb traces across your bottom lip.

Is it getting hot in here?

Ivar’s loose grip drops down under your jawline, palm pressing over the front of your throat as his hand descends to your collarbone.

“Ivar, what are you doing?” You are surprised at how breathy your voice is coming out.

“Changing the rules,” he says matter-of-factly. “No one gave me a turn to play tonight. Not only did I not get to slap you back, as you have so graciously agreed to allow, but I also never got to lick, or fondle anyone.” His voice became something between an exaggerated pout and a menacing threat as his hand came to rest on the top of your breastbone. “Do you agree? Will you make it up to me?”

You nod eagerly, a chortled “Mm-hm” bursting from your throat. How you have been dreaming of gaining Ivar’s attention like this.

You think you hear him chuckle at your eagerness but then all you hear is a rushing in your ears as Ivar’s hand descends in a flash over your right breast. He wastes no time getting himself a good handful, and you feel him using his other arm to pull his body closer. Your dress is not a particularly fine material but Ivar easily finds your nipple through it and rolls it between his fingers.

You moan and arch your back. There is little reason to pretend you’re not enjoying this.

Ivar rewards your honesty with a pleased little hum and the brush of his body against your shoulder. “Do you like that, y/n?” he breathes into your ear. His other hand comes to the small of your back, starts trailing down around the curve of your hip.

“Yes,” you whisper, so he tweaks it again, harder this time. He slides his hand across to the other side, grasping and teasing.

Then his hand travels down your stomach, and you hear him start breathing more heavily against you. The other hand is swirling over your ass. “Get up on your knees,” he urges.

It actually takes you a moment to break your panting trance and follow his instruction. You have to spread your knees a little wider on the ground to keep your balance, but that only seems to please him more. Ivar uses your new position to explore your ass with both hands, kneading and spreading your cheeks.

One hand starts to creep around to the front of your body again.

“This is a very thorough ‘fondle,’ Ivar,” you point out cheekily.

“Would you like me to move on to ‘lick’ then?” he asks, then plunges his hand between your thighs to cup your sex. A moment later the other hand meets it from behind and his fingers start spreading all the sensitive flesh in the space between.

You groan and toss your head. “Ivar… please…” you sigh. He’s going to need to remove your dress soon or the rough-hewn fabric is going to chafe.

Ivar pulls you down until your back is leaning against his warm chest. “Are you a wanton little thing?” he asks, lips tickling the shell of your ear as he draws your skirt up over your knees. “Have you been pining for this? Have you been craving me?” His movements are deft and authoritative as he strips you quickly.

He leaves the blindfold on.

You feel so much more vulnerable this way. Ivar is silent and is no longer touching you and you come back to your knees in the absence of further instructions. You move self-consciously to cover your breasts with crossed arms but Ivar tugs on your forearm, stopping you.

“You are gorgeous,” he breathes, “let me look at you.”

His hot breath, and then a wetness in the hollow below your shoulder. Ivar has moved on to ‘lick,’ and his tongue makes its way straight across your chest, then down to swirl over your nipple. You curl your fingers around the back of Ivar’s head as he sucks at you, his hands running down your sides and moving to spread your legs. You comply eagerly, so ready for what you imagine to be the next part of the game.

_Crack._

Instead, pain blossoms in your cheek and you realize Ivar just slapped you across the face. “If you wanted me this much, y/n, why did you choose to slap me in front of all those people tonight?”

You smile, turning your blindfolded face back toward your new lover. “Oh, I was just hoping to inflame you to do something just like this.”

You feel Ivar’s lips crash against yours, and his mouth never leaves you for the rest of the night.


	9. Pool Hall AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a video on social media of the actor that plays Ivar expertly sinking an 8-ball, and I was reminded of my heavy, inappropriate attraction to men while they are playing pool. Then an anonymous sister wife egged me on and we ended up with this little AU snippet, where Ivar is an asshole pool shark and the reader loves it.

Explicit fic below, warning for penetration and aggressive dirty talk

**“Did you enjoy that? Watching me?”**

The room is empty now, but Ivar has not missed the way your eyes tracked over his body as he took down one opponent after another, the stack of cash on the table next to you growing ever larger. He could probably  _feel it_  when your gaze roamed over the bulge of his shoulders in his white t-shirt, followed the rippling muscles of his forearms, the precise way he stacked his fingers on the pristine green felt.

You only knew one other time he bit his lip like that.

Something about the controlled power of his limbs, released so suddenly with those loud  _cracks_  of force, the way he synced his breathing with his focus and the cocky laughs and growls that followed every sunken ball. He danced around the table, taunting his opponents just enough to get them dead-set on trying again. Double or nothing. Easy money. It’s a wonder no one broke that perfect face tonight.

 **“Yes, Ivar.”** Your voice comes out breathy and it makes a devilish smile spread across his face.

**“Come here.”**

You step up into his space, inches from his chest, until you have to tilt your chin to look up at him. What is it about Ivar that always does this to you? You are breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you.

He looks down with a little smirk and gives your ass a quick slap.  **“Up.”**

Ivar directs you to sit on the edge of the pool table, then lays you down on your back and leans his body over yours. Just the way he’d reach across the table to line up a tricky shot.

 **“You like to watch me stretch out over this table,”**  he says as he traces the edge of your collarbone,  **“carefully assessing every detail.”** His fingertips ghost over the peak of your breast; he pauses to give a smile to the way your nipple instantly hardens under your thin shirt. He spreads out his large hand to slide his thumb over the other until they match.

 **“Making sure I understand the lay of the land,”** he continues, sliding his palm over your belly and down to hike up your short little skirt,  **“feeling it all out before I finally make my move.”**

Your panties are soaked; had been for the past hour as you watched Ivar dominate the pool hall. His smile when he discovers this is gratified, masculine, possessive.

He rips them off with one hand; a move as precise and springing with coiled power as all those winning shots.

His clever thumb starts circling your clit.  **“You like watching me take those fools for all they’re worth.”**  He’s been resting his weight on his elbow, next to your head, but now he straightens, fingers continuing to work your body.  **“Dominating everyone in here.”** You hear the clink of his belt buckle as he loosens it.  **“Making them all my _bitches.”_**

Rustling fabric, the sound of a zipper descending. Ivar’s fingers are teasing all around your entrance but he won’t give you anything satisfying.

 **“Just like I’m about to make you my little bitch,”** he growls in your ear as his body hovers over yours again, fingers leaving your sex so that he can grasp himself, teasing you with his tip.

 **“Ivar,”**  you whine,  **“please.”**

“ **Lining up my shot,”**  he gloats, blue eyes flashing over your face.  **“Are you ready?”**

As soon as you nod he slams himself into you, all at once. You hear the echo of pool balls cracking together and it is everything you’ve been craving. He pulls back shakily, and you can see how hard it is for him to control himself now, keep up this teasing little act. He draws back until only his tip is still inside, then looks down at you and bites his lip. He exhales and slams into you again, this time getting the squeal he was looking for.

Ivar holds himself pressed so deep in you and finally relaxes for a moment, lets his body cover yours.  **“To the victor go the spoils,”** he murmurs, then fucks you until you’re both spent.


End file.
